


Blood Bank Blues

by failsafe



Series: Chinese Food, Domestic Mishaps, and Possible Heroics [2]
Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Blood Donation, Blood Loss, F/M, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/pseuds/failsafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate was having an almost normal day when she got a phone call about Tommy having one of his own and making a surprising claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Bank Blues

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something for TommyKate week before now but I've been sapped. I honestly have no idea what category this fits in, but I decided to sort of mentally follow up on one I did last year. (The previous one in this unplanned series.) I hope you like it!

The sun had been hot on the pavement all day and the air still smelled like sweat, gasoline, and distant perfume when the light sank down to a narrow line that burned across high lines of windows that ran across some of the tallest buildings. Down on the dulled to blue street, Kate squinted up, trying not to let her vision be affected by the bright streak of light that came in sharply from the right. She adjusted just a little as she followed the movement of a difficult to track shadow moving across a set of windows that—thankfully—were not quite so blinding that belonged to a shorter building. 

She could feel a grimy, sticky steam blanketing over her skin and hair and sticking. She had seen nice buildings in Brooklyn if she was honest. Some of them had really old, beautiful facades that she knew had been there when Captain America—the first, no, second one—had been just a boy. This building wasn't one of those. 

That wasn't Clint Barton's Brooklyn. 

She folded her arms and tried to pretend that her slightly unzipped backpack didn't have a compact bow that wasn't even close to her own in it. The two zippers were positioned just far enough apart and at such an angle that it would take one smooth, uninhibited motion for her wrist to jab inside, her arm to draw down, to bring the weapon out. It still seemed like a terrible idea. What was worse than feeling vulnerable and stupid, though, was feeling just a little bit guilty. 

She wasn't supposed to be here today. With him. But that wasn't why she felt guilty. 

She suddenly touched her ear and jabbed at a button on the small, discreet device inside. Not civilian, but she was too tired of this to ask questions. 

“Alright, I see your ass. You done?” she demanded, impatiently, trying not to growl it out to avoid the need to repeat herself. 

“You see my _ass_? Katie—” came the reply. It was low, muffled, but there wasn't any hesitation. At least she knew she still had that much pull on the situation. It set her center of gravity a little closer to normal. She kept her gaze trained on the window but moved a little bit, trying not to make the appearance of pacing. 

“Shut up. And there's no point of having codenames if you keep doing that while we're doing _this_.” 

“Sorry, Hawkeye.” 

“No, don't,” Kate scolded, though she knew she'd just asked him to do basically that. She wasn't in the mood to keep on being constantly fair with him right now. 

“Then what do you want me to call you? And what's this about my ass?” 

Kate could tell that he was trying to be light with her, trying to fall back into some routine that she'd been losing grip on for a while now. She was grateful—that he'd dragged her back in when she'd given up, that he'd taught her a lot, given her advice when she'd needed it before everything went to shit even, supported the idea of her being a leader. He'd given her so much. But now, she wondered just what he was dragging her into. 

“I don't want you to call me anything. I'm not here right now.” 

“You'd better be here. Else I'm—”

“Else you're gonna get arrested, Clint,” Kate said. 

“What's this you said about codenames?” 

“You're in civilian-wear right now,” she replied, a bit vindictively. This wasn't the conversation she needed to be having right now. 

“So are you.” 

“Yeah, so just get out of there. You're breaking and entering and I'm your accomplice right now. Nothing more.” 

“... Look, I'm sorry. I just gotta check this drawer, and I needed _someone_ to watch my back. And—”

“And you cross one more Avenger's bad side and you're out.” 

“Yeah. Something like that,” Clint replied. Kate could hear him hating himself and she mostly wanted to slap some sense into him. But he had enough people who wanted to do that. What's more, a few who'd tried. She wasn't going to raise a hand to him. 

“I've got people I'm trying to protect, Hawkeye. And what about—”

Kate had absolutely no kind of clairvoyance that she could tell. Since she'd known a few mutants, she'd spent time awake at night thinking about it. Back when there hadn't been other things constantly weighing on her mind. Back before the world had taken its full, stitches of rusted fire-escapes and torn billboards weight here in the middle of Brooklyn and when she went home at night. But she knew what Clint was about to say. Or rather, whom he was about to say it about. 

She didn't want him to. 

“And what about _me_?” she turned it around on him. 

He didn't get the chance to answer because almost immediately she made a soft, inarticulate, prohibitive sound that was the slightly more audible version of shushing. Her actual phone was buzzing in the front pocket of the long vest she wore. 

“What's going on Ka—Hawkeye?” 

“Shut up. I'm getting a call.” 

“Do I bail out on you because some guy calls me?” 

“You do _not_ want me to answer that.” 

“Touché. Could you at least tell me if there's anyone on my ass first? Since you've got such a marvelous view.” 

“I've seen your ass, and I don't think there was anything particularly marvelous about it. God, I hope I never have to explain you to anybody. You're fine. Get your ass out of there or I am bailing on you,” she warned, then finally looked down at the face of her phone. 

She frowned, not recognizing the number. 

“Hello?” she asked. She almost identified herself, politely. But she had a different set of standards for that type of thing now. She waited, listened. 

“My fine ass is on my way down,” Clint said lowly. And for a moment Kate's blood boiled. She really, really could hit him because he was drowning out the familiar, syrupy tones of a nurse on the other end of the line. She didn't have any misapprehension as to what this kind of call was—the already too present efforts of trying to keep her calm. She made a gestured in the general direction of the way out she knew Clint would be taking even though she doubted he was far enough out to see her. 

“Sorry— _which_ memorial hospital?” she asked, interrupting the nurse—or candy-striper, or whoever made the calls (at the moment, Kate couldn't remember)—before she told her the rest of the reason she'd called. The moment she heard the answer she turned and moved—feet moving faster and faster until she broke into something just a bit less noticeable than a run. The sheen of her car was mostly illuminated by the shaped-light letters of signs now, the sun further and further gone as she worked her way into her car, carelessly tossing the dangerous backpack into the back seat. 

“Kate,” Clint said. He'd followed her and he was grabbing her car door before she managed to haul it shut. 

“Thank you,” Kate managed to grate out before hanging up her phone and tossing it down upon the upholstery of her passenger's seat. “Let go, Clint. I don't have time right now, and I won't hesitate to kick your ass if I have to.” 

She'd been holding it in. Saying something like that. Now she wondered why as she looked up from her seated position at the scruffy, sad blond man in a purple beanie with an H on it. It wasn't like it changed anything. 

“Kate,” Clint said more firmly, lowly. “Scoot over,” he said. 

“I _said_ I don't have time—” she started to shout, but he bent down and she instinctively began to shuffle over before her brain and mouth got in synch. She understood a lot of things about Clint Barton now, and she sometimes had to realize belatedly that she understood them. 

She was already folded awkwardly into her passenger's seat, squirming and moving to fasten the belt over her lap, before he shut the door and explained, hand outstretched. 

“I'll drive,” he said, and she was already handing him the keys. “Where to?” 

\- - - 

“Park it. You steal my car and we're not friends anymore,” Kate warned when they were pulling up outside the hospital's Emergency entrance. Her stomach was tight and her abdomen already coiled with tension to leap out as soon as the car was still. She wasn't taking chances with herself because she had to walk in like a normal person before someone realized this was all a huge mistake. If that happened, she didn't know what would. 

Her feet sidewalk and then the smoother concrete of the hospital floor as she kept reminding herself to walk-not-run to the nurse's station. She leaned forward against the dull, sickly gray high counter and looked down slightly at the woman behind the desk sitting in front of the computer. She didn't know—didn't have any way of knowing—whether or not this was the woman she'd talked to on the phone, but she made the assumption and the leap. She had to, automatically. It was the path of least resistance, and she had no idea what was going on except that she was fighting against borrowed time one way or the other. 

Things with him always happened too fast, and when she saw a window, she'd learned not to ignore it. If she did, he'd jump out it on his own. 

As her arms folded over the counter and she tried to catch her breath, her hand calm down, palm flat and open. It made a much louder smacking sound than she'd intended and she almost flinched. 

“... Can I help you, miss?” the woman behind the counter asked. 

“Bishop,” Kate spat out. Then she lowered, regulated her voice. She had to not screw this up. She also had to not panic. She'd lost someone before, she realized in the midst of all of this. But she was getting ahead of herself. “Tommy Bishop,” she said. 

The two words didn't fit together on her tongue, but she sounded convincing. 

“—They, They called me.” 

The woman nodded and took a long, black phone up from its cradle, punching a couple of buttons. Kate knew what Tommy meant, in moments like this, about everything going too slow. 

“Miss Bishop's here for the young man in E14,” she said, and then replaced the phone in its cradle only a second later. 

Kate was actually surprised when someone came to escort her directly there rather than telling her to wait. She hated waiting rooms. Even the night after she'd met the guys the first time. The night she'd met Cassie. She'd waited outside on the curb, mostly. 

“You're his sister?” the woman in more official-looking scrubs asked Kate. She was a little shorter than her but probably going on ten years older. 

Kate didn't know what to say and almost immediately started to shake her head but she tried to mask her confusion behind a different sort of confusion. 

“Uh... yeah, s—” she tried to follow through, but she realized that she wasn't even being looked at as long as she kept pace. 

“He's refused treatment. He really needs blood, but he said he needed his next of kin here before he'd let us do anything. He's conscious, and he really shouldn't be with blood loss that rapid, but he's... to be honest with you, I'm not sure how he's stabilized this fast. The hospital doesn't have a record on him, and we were hoping if we complied with his request that a next of kin might be willing to give blood. We've got him on saline, but if he gets much more anemic—”

“What happened?” Kate interrupted as she noticed the room numbers beginning to start with D. 

“He said a bar fight,” the woman told her. She could tell she didn't believe him. Kate didn't either.

She had some inkling as to why Tommy might be stabilizing more quickly after blood loss than he was supposed to, but she still had to brace herself for what she might see when she walked into the room. She really wished someone had taken him to Westchester instead, but Tommy was a hard-head. She also didn't know how bad it was or who'd found him or if he'd taken himself to the E.R. That last one seemed extremely unlikely. 

“Just let me be alone with him for a minute,” Kate requested. It came out like a soft order, even though she hadn't meant to. She didn't know whether or not that had any bearing in the fact that she didn't get any argument. 

“Yes, Miss Bishop. I'll be right back with you,” the woman told her. Then they were in the E's and Kate found the right room, pushing herself at the door without waiting to be told she could. 

The door swung heavy and closed behind her with surprisingly little noise. Or maybe she just didn't notice. It closed without event. She could hear monitoring machinery and her first instinct was that she knew Tommy would hate it if—

“You came,” he said, and his voice was weaker than it ought to have been—but here he was, medical marvel as far as they were concerned. Conscious. Kate could've jumped out of her skin. 

“Yeah. You told them to call me,” she said, folding her arms over her abdomen again. She approached the bed a little. “You thought I wouldn't?” 

“Thought it was worth a shot.” Tommy blinked his eyes and Kate could tell that they were heavy. She noticed him looking a bit sinisterly at the IV in his arm and she hoped he didn't get ideas and fine motor control at once if he really was weak. Tommy was reckless. “Just in case it was as bad as they said.” 

“What did they say?” 

“Thought I was gonna bleed to death.” 

“What happened to you?” Kate decided to demand, since he seemed in good enough condition to talk. 

“Got my ass kicked.” 

“... By whom?” Kate asked, her tone going a little more crisp and private school practiced. If only because she knew that it tended to make Tommy's skin crawl enough to do what she said even when he hated it. 

“I thought thugs.” 

“You thought?” 

“Yeah, but thugs don't carry around blood transfusion... harvesting... things, do they?” 

Kate's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped just a little bit. 

“They what?” 

“They stole it.” 

“... Your blood?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why would anybody do that?” 

“I don't know. You know every kid thinks they're a vampire these days. Though one of 'em was an old dude. But I do know, I guess. Same reason I called you.” 

“'Tommy Bishop," she said to him. "... Why... did you call me? And not your brother.” Kate frowned at him, worried. 

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Thought if I had to have blood from somebody who wasn't like me, I'd have it from someone who liked me,” he babbled, sounding sleepier and sleepier. 

By that point Kate had edged right to the side of Tommy's hospital bed. She felt the skin of her lower thighs touch against the cool plastic and had to will herself not to shiver. 

“Baby, you're not making any sense,” she said softly. It wasn't quite a whisper but it felt like she barely heard herself as she looked down at the angle of his nose and the shape of his jaw and finally met green, bleary eyes. They almost instantly became slightly more alert. 

“What did you call me?” he asked. 

Kate opened her mouth. She didn't know why she didn't answer but instead she reached down into her vest pocket and pulled out her phone, turning halfway away but looking at Tommy down the line of her shoulder. 

“I'm calling Billy,” she informed him as she began to go through the motions of doing so. The picture on the face of her phone felt a little accusing as she thumbed past it. She wasn't terrified to notice it now .There was a blurry shock of white hair and a Cheshire Cat smile and her own smile much more in focus, angled face flush to the side of angled face. She couldn't get him to sit still for a picture but she remembered the afternoon they'd spent laughing until she was in pain as she chased him around and tried to bribe him in different ways to get him to sit still. That picture was the closest she'd gotten, and until today it'd seemed hilarious every time she looked down at it. Until today, she'd almost wished someone would ask her to explain it. Now she knew she didn't know how to. Again. 

“Kate,” Tommy said, and it made her stand up straighter. She sighed and turned to look back at him, head tilting to the side. 

“Tommy, I've gotta call him. The nurse said you needed blood, and you know I can't give it to you. Why don't they have your medical records? Don't they know that you're a—” Then it hit her. He'd refused to give his real name. She frowned. “You've got to take this seriously even with your healing factor.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” Tommy said dryly, but Kate couldn't say that it was without a grateful lilt somewhere in there. She didn't bother scolding him and instead looked back down at her phone, too distracted to have sent the call yet. 

“Why did you come, Kate?” 

“'Cause I have to.” 

“Why?” Tommy demanded again, and she thought he meant for it to be adamant but it just sounded sad and resigned and maybe a little hurt. 

“Because I was worried about you,” she insisted, and that seemed enough to draw him back away from that edge of anger that someone had put there. Someone it wouldn't do her to meet. One of the few things she didn't think she liked about New Jersey. “You... You make people worry,” she added, and then regretted it a little bit. She let her arm go straight and a bit limp with just enough tension to keep her phone in her hand at the end of it. 

“I'm not dyin', Kate.” 

She noticed that he kept using her name. He didn't usually do that, she thought. 

“Who'd you come here with?” Tommy asked suddenly. Only it wasn't sudden. Kate realized only when he broke it that she'd lapsed into a moment's silence. She wondered if he was well enough for it to drive him nuts. 

“Clint drove me.” 

“That guy. Old guy,” Tommy said, a bit dryly but Kate heard it in his voice. And for a second she wanted to snarl or some other expression of distaste. Or to tell him to shut up and that it wasn't his business. Because it wasn't. But then she decided that he deserved a couple of benefits of the doubt today. “... I'm not gonna be mad.” He took a moment and just let himself breathe deeply. In and out, in and out. The patience surprised her and she realized his eyes were suddenly fixed on the ceiling, like he dreaded the answer. “But is that—is that why—”

“No,” Kate said firmly. Before she considered the rest of it. “... Why what?” she followed up. 

“Why we're... not. I mean, are you.” 

“No.” 

“Okay. Just makin' sure we understand each other.” 

“You know we do, Tommy,” she retorted very softly. She scuffed over to the side of his bed again, right at his shoulder. “Where's it hurt?” 

“Nowhere.” 

“Tommy.” 

“Where didn't it? But I think they gave me somethin'. Doesn't do much, though. I'd need enough aspirin for a bear.” 

“I doubt they gave you aspirin,” Kate said, chuckling a little. “He's my friend, Tommy. And I don't... belong to somebody else. You get that, right? Because if you don't, I'm sure I can have this conversation. And right now I need to call your brother,” she reasoned with him. 

“No. No, I was just... askin' because I thought maybe I'd... missed something. And dragging something up for you. I don't wanna do that.” 

“You sound scared,” Kate realized aloud. 

“'m okay now. You can call Billy or whatever. 'Sides, nothing Barton's got I don't got,” he said, posturing a bit. It looked and sounded pathetic from where he was and that just made Kate's compassionate, brief little pout for him all the deeper as she drew the phone to her ear. It rang. 

“I don't know. He might have a better ass.” 

“Ew. Gross, Kate. Look, if we're... talking, I don't wanna know if—”

“It wasn't like that,” Kate sighed, rolling her eyes. Men. 

“Well, whatever. Money-back guarantee if—”

“Billy!” Kate interrupted, as soon as she heard the sound of the other end of the line being opened. 

\- - - 

Kate found herself in the waiting room. She really wished she hadn't, but she'd had to tell the doctors what was going on. Had to tell the truth. 

She hated waiting rooms. 

She didn't have to wait long, though. She didn't know where Clint was, and if he had her car back in Brooklyn she was going to tie him to his taped together couch for a few days. Maybe she could tape him down. That'd be better, she decided. 

She glanced up every time the doors slid back, and on the third try she saw someone she knew. Tall, blond hair. 

“Teddy,” she said, getting his attention before he made his way to the nurse's station. Billy followed shortly behind. Teddy was breathless. Billy wasn't and had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “... You flew here,” she accused softly, not wanting to attract undue attention to them. There was the matter of why Tommy was in here, but she didn't know if he was confused about that or what. 

Billy was the one who looked guilty and almost immediately she glared at him. They needed to talk. But then, she was one to talk. If she was right. But Tommy came first right now. Her eyes went down to the white, black-flecked shiny squares on the floor. 

“What's wrong? Kate,” Teddy pleaded as he came to stand in front of her. His arm went out a little as if to shield Billy. 

“I can't give him blood,” she announced. “That's what they called me here for.” 

“Why'd they call you?” Billy asked, and she could feel the weight leeching into his voice. 

“He said his name was Tommy Bishop,” she said. It at least told them he was talking. She glanced up at them and saw that both their pairs of eyebrows at crawled up their foreheads quite a bit. She shook her head and shrugged. 

“Guy doesn't like needles,” Teddy commented. She couldn't tell if it was a joke or not. "You got something you wanna tell us, Kate?"  


“Which one of us...?” Billy asked, glancing up at Teddy. Kate watched him, and she thought that he was hesitating, even on this. She waited for a moment of Teddy and Billy just staring at each other, sizing it up. On the other hand, she didn't blame Billy for not wanting to take the time to joke. She kept thinking about how long Tommy must feel like he was waiting.  


“Billy,” Kate scolded, gently swinging her leg out and tapping the toe of her shoe to his shin. 

“What?” he asked. 

“You look just like him.” 

“So? Teddy's blood's definitely able to match is, and we don't even know if—”

“Look at you, Billy,” she insisted. “Look at yourself and tell me what they're gonna think. Go talk to him. I called _you_.” 

Billy looked back and forth between Kate and Teddy. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it go. 

“Fine. I'll go talk to him. Which room number did you say it was?” 

“E14,” Kate told him. 

Billy marched off, and Kate knew that fast little sneaking in plain sight pace. Someone trying not to loose their nerve. She sighed herself and looked way back up to meet Teddy's eyes. She ticked her head to the side, accompanied by a soft click of her tongue. 

Teddy took the cue and took the seat beside her. His knees parted as he sat, but he was decent enough not to let them veer into her space. Kate curled up anyway, chin down to a knee. 

“How long you been here?” 

“Long enough to convince Tommy he was being stupid. And scaring me,” she explained, fidgeting with the end of a section of her hair meticulously but to no end. 

“'Tommy Bishop,' huh?” 

“Don't ask.” 

“I wanna,” Teddy half-teased, weakly. He couldn't quite manage a chuckle. 

“I don't know.” 

“... He decided you're his next of kin.” 

“What do you want me to do? Buy him flowers?” 

“Might be a start.” 

“I don't think we need to start.” 

“Kate, there's... something, isn't there? You're gonna break his heart if—”

“Teddy, we need to talk.” 

“Yeah, you do,” he said gently. 

“Not me and him. I mean the four of us,” Kate said quickly. 

“... Oh,” Teddy said. He didn't have to ask. She could almost watch the meaning hitting him. She didn't think it was a bad thing. Not to him. 

Then along came his only problem. Kate smiled kindly up at Billy, especially when she saw some look on his face that she recognized. By the time he was standing in front of them both, he was hoisting the strap of his messenger bag off his shoulder and giving it to Teddy. 

“Hang onto this?” he requested. 

“What's going on?” Teddy asked. 

“I'm gonna give him my blood.” 

Teddy lifted his hand in a peace-making gesture. 

“Dude, calm down. It's just a little blood,” he warned him. 

“Yeah. Just make sure no one carts us off, okay humans?” Billy requested, smirking a little. 

“I'll have you know I'm—” Teddy started to banter back lowly. 

“You are right now. I bet if they did a blood test—Coulda taken this one for me but you didn't. Your loss,” Billy teased. 

Kate smiled to herself and nudged at Billy again as she let her legs back down to the floor. 

“Hey, it's a shot at an in with him,” she encouraged. “... You'll be in his blood now. No more excuses.” 

“I think he gave up making them. Long time before I did,” Billy admitted. 

“Billy, we're proud of you,” Kate assured him. 

“Thanks,” Billy murmured. He squared his shoulders and walked back up to the nurse's station. 

Teddy watched after him until he saw that a nurse was taking him back somewhere. He hoped that would notice if someone did try to cart them off and that he wouldn't have to eat the joke. 

“And so we waited,” he narrated softly when he leaned his elbows down against his knees. 

“I hate waiting rooms,” Kate admitted, leaning her head back against the wall. 

“You could go home. We've... got him for now.” 

“No, I... wanna see him. When he busts out of here in an hour.” 

“Why's that?” Teddy tried to prompt. It was the verbal equivalent of a nudge. 

“Damage control,” she said glumly. 

“Kate.” 

“None of your damn business,” she laughed out, and then Teddy seemed suddenly satisfied. 

“All he wants to know.” 

“Shut up. I was scared for him. Won't kill me to buy him Chinese.” 

“That's what I mean.” 

Kate rolled her head against the wall to look over at Teddy. 

“And then we'll talk?” 

“Yeah. Four of us.” 


End file.
